


Cry Wolf

by damnfancyscotch



Series: Whimsy & Confusion [8]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alive Laura Hale, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Werewolves Are Known, Happy Ending, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Pre-Slash, Temporary Character Death, The Hale Betas Live
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-13
Updated: 2017-04-13
Packaged: 2018-10-18 13:21:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10617750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/damnfancyscotch/pseuds/damnfancyscotch
Summary: Even as he’s rearranging the baskets in his wagon, he’s asking himself what in the hell he’s thinking. But, if he’s honest with himself, he can’t leave someone to die alone in the woods, he just can’t.Kind or weak, it depends on who one asks.“Derek,” the werewolf gasps as Stiles is about to cover him with the canvas.Stiles blinks at him. “Is that your name?”The werewolf nods.“Alright, Derek. We’ll get you help soon.” He drops the canvas and starts his walk back, trying to appear as casual as he can and not as if he’s about to bring an enemy into his village.





	

**Author's Note:**

> A village at war! A boy who just wants to be kind and help a wounded soul! Madness ensues!!
> 
> :)

The first time Stiles sees Derek, he almost lands on top of the werewolf.

Because that’s what this unconscious being is. It has to be, especially since its chest still rises and falls, even with three arrows buried in its flesh.

He leans over from his position on the ground, quest for herbs completely forgotten as he takes in the man in front of him.

The flesh around the arrows is dark with infection, likely Wolfsbane, and he knows that he should leave before the creature wakes up.

But…

He runs his eyes over the werewolf’s face, sees the wrinkle in his brow, the smile lines around his mouth, the crinkles by his eyes. He’s young and it surprises Stiles.

He looks around, biting his lip. This might be some sort of test, but it doesn’t seem like anyone’s watching him.

And would it really make a difference if he pulled the arrows out?

The poison’s already in the creature’s veins so it’s not like Stiles would really be _helping_ him or anything, just easing the passing of another living being, the way his mother always taught him to.

He takes a deep breath, drawing up onto his knees so he can get a good hold on one of the arrows. He counts to three then yanks hard enough to knock himself back on his ass.

He gulps at the bloody arrow, tossing it to the side and rolling back over to look at the werewolf.

Still unconscious.

Well, that’s probably best. He grabs the second arrow and braces himself. He manages not to fall over this time and he tosses the second arrow after the first.

Just as he’s curling his hand around the third arrow, the werewolf’s eyes fly open.

It startles him enough that he only succeeds at pulling on the arrow as he flails backwards, not actually removing it.

The werewolf growls at him, a low rumbling sound that sets Stiles’ teeth on edge.

“Shush now,” he scolds bravely, channeling his mother’s firm tone while healing. “My name is Stiles and I’m taking this out so don’t move.”

The werewolf blinks at him, but doesn’t stop growling as Stiles reaches down and yanks the last arrow free.

The werewolf wraps a clawed hand around Stiles’ wrist, tightening his hold as he bares his teeth, eyes flashing an inhuman blue.

Stiles rolls his eyes and takes the arrow with his other hand, tossing it over his shoulder.

“See? All gone,” Stiles says softly now, trying to sooth the creature with his open palms.

The werewolf doesn’t release him but he loosens the tightness of his hold the slightest bit and his eyes go back to a more-normal green-grey. He rubs his free hand along his bloody chest, smearing red and black goo in a sickening spiral of color.

“Alright, you need a healer.” Stiles swallows hard. He bites his lip. “I could... take you to my friend. His name is Scott and he’s a healer in my village. He’s the best around.”

The werewolf stares at him, his eyes flickering blue again. His tight hold on Stiles’ wrist loosens the rest of the way and he gives the tiniest nod.

“Okay. I need to put you in my wagon. There’s no way I’ll be able to carry you all the way there.”

Plus, if any of the villagers saw him, they’d immediately kill him. They’d probably kill Stiles too. He pushes the thought away and pulls his arm from the werewolf’s grasp.

Even as he’s rearranging the baskets in his wagon, he’s asking himself what in the hell he’s thinking. But, if he’s honest with himself, he can’t leave someone to die alone in the woods, he just can’t.

Kind or weak, it depends on who one asks.

“Derek,” the werewolf gasps as Stiles is about to cover him with the canvas.

Stiles blinks at him. “Is that your name?”

The werewolf nods.

“Alright, Derek. We’ll get you help soon.” He drops the canvas and starts his walk back, trying to appear as casual as he can and not as if he’s about to bring an enemy into his village.

\-----

Derek blinks blearily at the canvas covering, jolted by the holes that Stiles rolls over. Eventually, the wagon stops moving and he hears another man speaking.

“Get anything good today, Stiles?”

“Just a few mushrooms and some medicinal plants,” Stiles chuckles. “I may have to find some new places to search.”

“Well, be careful not to go too far. You can never tell what’s in these woods.”

“Indeed,” Stiles agrees then the wagon starts moving again.

Derek smells humans and domesticated animals and food, hears people speaking and someone singing and a dog barking. He tries desperately not to pass out completely and is barely able to keep his eyes open when the wagon stops again.

“Scott!” Stiles calls.

“Hey Stiles,” a warm voice answers, “bring me anything good?”

Stiles murmurs, “Scott, I need your help.”

“What did you do?” The tone is annoyed but also fond.

“I didn’t _do_ anything. I, uh, found a new patient for you.”

The pair draws closer and Stiles pulls back the covering of the wagon.

Derek looks up at Stiles’ Scott, notices the dark hair and the crooked jaw and the wide eyes as he grabs Stiles and pulls him back from the wagon and the canvas covers him again.

Scott whispers, but Derek can still hear, “Stiles, you can’t keep him here.”

“What am I supposed to do with him?” Stiles snaps. “Throw him back out in the woods so he can die?”

Scott whines, “But, he’s-”

“I _know_.”

There’s a long moment of silence before Scott sighs. “Your old room, in the attic.”

“Thank you.” The relief in Stiles’ tone confuses Derek.

“Don’t thank me. If he’s found, there’s nothing I can do.” As Stiles draws closer to him, he hears Scott mutter, “We’ll be lucky if they don’t punish _all_ of us for keeping him here.”

They carry him inside and up a set of narrow stairs, almost falling down them, before settling him on a small mattress. He’s barely conscious when Scott disappears.

Stiles settles by his side and says, “Scott will know what to do, to get the poison out.”

Derek doubts that. He knows what Wolfsbane arrows do to his kind. He grabs Stiles’ hand and grunts, “My sister,” he coughs, feeling wetness on his lips, “my Alpha, if I… you have to find her, tell her…”

Stiles looks doubtful but nods when Derek tightens his grip. “Sure, if you don’t make it, I’ll find a way to reach her.” He squeezes back. “But I assure you, you’re going to be fine.”

Derek wants to tell this ridiculous human that he has no idea if that’s true but he passes out before he can.

Miraculously, he does wake up.

He blinks back to consciousness and sees Stiles passed out next to him, leaning against the wall with his chin on his chest as he sleeps. His eyelashes are a thick line against his cheeks and his mouth moves, even now.

Derek studies him for a long time, far too long to be appropriate, and only looks away when Stiles stirs at Scott’s footsteps on the stairs.

“You’re awake,” Scott states, stepping closer and sitting on the floor.

Derek nods.

Scott smiles, a truly happy thing. “I just wanted to check and see how you were feeling.”

Stiles awakens fully, stretching and moving closer too.

“I feel better.” Derek looks between them. “Thank you.”

“Of course.” Scott nods to him then claps Stiles on the shoulder.

Stiles smiles at his friend. When Scott is gone, he turns to Derek. “I told you I wouldn’t have to fetch your sister.”

Derek purses his lips. “Am I your prisoner now?”

Stiles looks shocked and perhaps more than a little offended. “Of course not.” He waves a hand in the air. “You can leave as soon as you’re able. I would advise that you wait until dusk, if only to be sure that you aren’t seen, but you’re completely free to go.”

He lets out a sigh of relief, though he’s still a little confused. It’s not the first time someone’s helped one of his kind, but it’s always a gamble. “Yes. This evening.”

“Well, that’s settled.” Stiles smiles at him. “I’ll leave you to rest a bit more.” Stiles stands and brushes off his pants, moving down the stairs after Scott.

True to his word, Stiles reappears at dusk, an armful of clothes in hand. His cheeks are slightly pink but his voice is frank as he says, “It’s probably best if you’re clothed.”

Derek pulls on the itchy garments and follows Stiles out of the house and along a path they must have traveled on the way into the village.

They pass through a small gate, unmanned by a guard this time, and slip deeper into the woods, close to where Stiles first found him.

Stiles turns his back, likely to give him a sense of privacy, as if it matters to him. But, still, it’s a kindness, no matter how small.

Stiles seems to be made of small kindnesses and a small part of Derek thinks, _we could keep him_.

Derek bats the thought away and shucks the uncomfortable clothes, shifting into his full form, shivering and shaking off the last bits of the change. He looks up and sees Stiles looking at him in awe, amber eyes wide and mouth open.

“You’re…”

Derek cringes, prepares himself for ugly words to fly from that beautiful mouth.

“So beautiful,” Stiles breathes, taking a half a step forward, arm outstretched, before stopping and dropping his hand. “I’m sorry.” He smiles, dropping his eyes.

Derek stares at him, head tilting a bit as he tries one last time to figure this human out.

Stiles leans forward and gathers the clothes from the ground. He stands and nods at Derek. “Be safe, Derek. Happy travels.”

Then, as if nothing in his life was remotely out of the ordinary, he turns, trotting away into the trees back toward the village.

Derek stares after the strange man for a long time before making himself move, heading back to his den and his pack.

\-----

The second time Stiles sees Derek, he’s being shoved up the wooden steps of the gallows. He stumbles and the Hunter that has ahold of his bound hands shoves him impatiently, sending him sprawling against the platform and setting up a chuckle among the crowd.

The same crowd that cheered when his father was appointed Sheriff, that wept with him when first his mother passed, then his father.

It’s the same crowd that jeered and cajoled as Stiles was forced to watch Scott’s home go up in flames with his best friend trapped inside…

The same crowd that now sets up another cheer for Katherine Argent and her vile father, Gerard, the leader of the Hunters that allegedly "protect" the village from the _beasts_ that roam outside the walls.

Stiles scans his eyes over the crowd once more, catching sight of a black head of hair but it’s just the butcher. He scolds himself.

Derek would never show himself in this village, he knows better. He drops his head back to the planks and tries to get to his feet as another Hunter wrenches his arm into the air.

He’s shoved into place at the edge of the platform, watching as the rough-hewn noose swings before his face. The floor beneath him bows slightly, the trapdoor ready to disappear from beneath his feet with the slightest provocation.

“Mieczyslaw Stilinski, you are hereby charged with consorting with the enemy. You have brought danger to this village and you must face the consequences,” Gerard announces calmly.

But oh, Stiles remembers the mad zeal in the old man’s eyes from his time in the jail.

He’d been nabbed right after letting Derek go, clothes still warm in his hand from Derek’s skin, and drug to the jail for questioning. He’s not proud of himself, but he’s slightly impressed he lasted under torture as long as he did. Eventually, he confessed to the charges Gerard screamed at him, if only to make it all stop.

Now, despite all the pain from before, it’s like he barely feels anything at all.

“What have you to say for yourself?” Gerard asks.

Stiles remains silent, raising his chin and casing his eyes over the seething and laughing crowd.

“You will answer your betters, scum,” Katherine hisses, jabbing him in the side with a sharp prod.

It hurts a little and he can feel more blood flowing over his skin. But it’s just one more spike of pain on top of the others. He still doesn’t reply.

He has nothing to say to these people. The people that have known him since he was born, that were healed by his mother and Scott’s, that now judge him with cold eyes and colder hearts and curved mouths.

“Very well. You are just as damned by your silence, boy,” Gerard says.

The Hunter next to him drags him another step forward and fits the noose over his neck, tightening it enough to make his eyes water.

“This is what happens to people who violate our trust, who seek only to serve themselves. Take note and do not repeat his sins,” Gerard announces.

Stiles has to resist the urge to roll his eyes. If this is his last moment on earth, he probably shouldn’t spend it sarcastically, though it would be a testament to how he lived.

His eyes catch on someone in the crowd, even as he tries not to look.

And for the love of the gods, it _is_ Derek that he spots.

The werewolf levels him with a small nod right as the wood drops from under his feet and everything goes sharp and loud, a roaring in his ears or maybe that really is a roar?

He doesn’t have much time to ponder it, though, as shortly after, everything goes black.

\-----

Everyone makes it back to the den in one piece, but it’s a near thing.

Isaac’s arm hangs from threads of flesh and he whimpers as Cora presses it firmly against his body and wraps a length of cloth around it to hold it in place. Erica is limping but seems to be okay other than a few bloody scratches. Boyd emerges from the den to sniff at her and lick her face.

Laura looks over at them, heaving a sigh. She pats Derek on the back and rubs her hand over Stiles’ hair. “He’s ours now, too.”

Derek nods and their pack mates sets up growling agreements as Derek places Stiles gently on a pile of cloth and furs. He smooths a hand over the man’s shoulder, trying not to give into the rage that curls inside him as he sees all the marks on the man’s pale skin.

He wants to go back and kill Katherine again, but he knows it won’t help.

For now, he’ll wait for their newest pack member to wake up.

\-----

The third time Stiles sees Derek, he’s convinced he’s dreaming.

He reaches up his hand, cupping the curve of Derek’s bearded cheek, and rubs his thumb over the apple of it. “You are so lovely.”

Derek’s mouth quirks, eyebrows rising. He says, in his careful way, “You are delirious.”

Stiles shakes his head. “I’m not delirious.” He insists, “I’m _dead_.”

The werewolf snorts. “No, you’re not.”

“I… I’m not?” Stiles looks around, sees a dirt ceiling and rough walls. “You… you saved me.”

Derek settles back in a squat, nodding. “We did.”

_We, his pack?_

“But… why?” Stiles shakes his head. “I appreciate it, truly, but I don’t understand.”

Derek studies him, thoughts fathomless as his eyes bore into Stiles. Finally, he says, “You helped me.”

Stiles shrugs, pushing into a sitting position. “You didn’t deserve to die.”

“Neither did you.” Derek looks over a wolf trots by the cave opening, glancing in at them before walking away. “And neither did your brother.”

“Scott?” Stiles leans forward. “Are… is…”

Derek nods slowly. “He’s here.” He glances further into the den and Stiles turns, sees a pile of wolves curled up together. “My sister says he’s adjusting well.”

Stiles looks back at him. “He’s a werewolf?”

Derek nods again. “He was gravely injured and he had bad lungs.”

“Yes.” He stares at the wolves and wonders which one is Scott, how they got him out of the burning house, because he knows that the Hunters ensured that Scott was passed out inside before the set the house ablaze. “So your sister saved my brother because I saved hers?”

Derek says sagely, “We help those that help us. You’re not the first to show us kindness, but the first in a long time.”

“That’s how it should work,” Stiles says firmly.

“It does, sometimes,” Derek glances back at the pile of wolves, “but especially in packs.”

Stiles thinks about the implications of that, about where he is and what his life could be like. He has nothing left in the village and Scott is here and…

“Am I pack?”

“You could be.” Derek looks back at him. “If you wanted.”

Stiles smiles. "I'd like that very much."

And so it is.

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you thought!
> 
> kisskiss  
> ♡ Scotch


End file.
